Ward of the Philosopher by D. P. Prior Page A

thrummed, and waves of nausea struck Deacon in the guts. He stumbled forward, spotted the glint of metal on the ground. Flames of fuligin shot toward Aristodeus, and at the same time, Deacon swept up his sword and rammed it through brittle ribs into a heart so black and desiccated, it could have been made of coal.
    The lich shrieked and roared and howled. The sorcerous threads it held like a puppeteer shimmered and vanished. Dark flames dispersed into filthy smog before they could touch Aristodeus.  
    All around the square, undead dropped in heaps, and a cheer went up from the villagers who’d made it to the cover of the houses.
    The lich looked down at the sword poking through its ribs, then lifted its coal-fire eyes. Lightning crackled along the blade and flung Deacon back. Pain throbbed through every nerve, and his fingers were scalded.
    Aristodeus tried to reach his feet, but the lich raised both hands above its head, and a poisonous brume formed around them.
    “No!” the philosopher cried, scooting back on his rear.
    There was a rush of movement, the flash of a blade, and the lich’s head went spinning away across the square. Its body swayed in place for a moment, then crumbled into ash. The churning vapors it had summoned dispersed on the wind.
    There, standing over the lich’s remains, was Jarl Shader.  
    As a dozen men of the Coastal Watch streamed into the square behind him, Jarl sheathed his sword. He ignored the philosopher and came to help Deacon to his feet. Gralia ran to him, and he embraced his wife and child as if there were no one else in all the world of Urddynoor.
    Villagers started to re-enter the square, poking through the bodies of the reavers to make sure they were fully dead this time.
    Deacon heard the scuff of feet approaching.
    “Your boy fought well, Jarl,” Aristodeus said.
    Gralia wrenched herself away from her family and punched him square on the jaw. Aristodeus fell on his rump, eyes wide with shock. But it was a shock that swiftly gave way to fury.
    He surged to his feet, but Jarl intercepted him, blade half-drawn.
    Aristodeus’s eyes flitted left and right. His sword was buried beneath a pile of corpses, and there was something about Jarl that told Deacon the philosopher would be dead in an instant, if he so much as breathed.
    “It wasn’t fighting that saved us,” Gralia said, “it was prayer. It was the Lord Nous himself.”
    Jarl snorted. “Could have done with his almighty help back on the beach. Just thank shog those things were so slow. Dozens we killed, but we still lost too many of our own.”
    With an effort of will, Aristodeus relaxed and drew himself up to his full height. He was half a head taller than Jarl, but slender, where Jarl was broad-shouldered and heavily muscled.
    “The other three ships were merely a diversion,” the philosopher said. “The focus of the attack was here, and believe me, in the proximity of the lich you just killed, the reavers we faced were anything but slow.”
    “Hear this, philosopher,” Jarl said. “I’ll honor our agreement, but put the boy in danger again, and I’ll—”
    Aristodeus crouched down and drove his hand through a heap of bodies. He whipped it out, clutching his sword. With staggering speed and grace, he slashed, thrust, and sliced the air, gliding in dancer’s streps as he fenced invisible foes. Jarl looked on open-mouthed, and nods of respect passed among the Coastal Watch.  
    When he’d finished, Aristodeus leaned on his sword and said, “I never doubted you would adhere to our little agreement, Jarl. It may come as a surprise to you, but I’ve always considered you a man of honor. It’s part of the reason I chose you.”
    Deacon looked from the philosopher to his father. What did Aristodeus mean, “chose”?
    Gralia draped her arm around Deacon’s shoulders. “Come on, you’ve already seen more than any child should. Let’s get you home, leave the Watch to take care of things here.”
    “Good